Porn Star Dancing
by TayLynn
Summary: Claire is working as a stripper to get the attention of a certain someone from her past, and Sylar is back for more. Can their love save or destroy them? Co-written fanfic with BackwardBlossom/Bro023/Kaley. Cover Image by Kaley.


She can't help congratulating herself on her choice in lipstick that evening, its bright red shade contrasting nicely with her short black hair. She applied another coat just to make sure, smacking her lips as she appraised her appearance in the mirror one last time. Stepping back for a better angle to see the rest of the outfit, she did a slight twirl to see her back side. "Yes," she thought. "This will do nicely." One fleeting glance at the mirror and Claire was out the door.

It was strange, her growing, irrational anxiety. She had walked the length of this hallway many times over. And many other hallways, eerily similar, both in its somewhat musty smell and dim illumination. There was always one light fixture that needed changing, it's dying beams flickering in its vain struggle to regain life. It was damn depressing is what it was. How many girls before her had walked this path, looked up at that light and also wondered "when the hell are they going to change that fucking bulb?" Of course it was only distracting them from what lied ahead, because what sane, self-respecting person would put themselves through such a thing There was of course the exceptions. The desperate single mothers only trying to feed their families; that she could understand. It was imperative to their survival. Although, that left Claire with a very troubling question, why was she doing it? There was not much that threatened her survival, going hungry for a few weeks wasn't exactly going to kill her. She didn't need the extra money, years, count that years, of savings insured her financial security. So, when it came down to it, why was she putting herself through this?

Claire didn't have to think very hard for an answer to that one. She knew from the moment she started on this path why exactly she chose this, why she continued on, year after fucking year, skipping on to the next shitty establishment. It was all for him. Her desperate struggle for his attention. How had she let herself fall so far, for him? Where was that headstrong, stubborn cheerleader so sure of her convictions? Had time been so cruel as to erase her so irrevocably? Did it really matter now? Everyone she once knew was long since dead. No more than bones and faded memories. The only one left to judge her was herself, and Claire had already forgotten how to hate him. The very masculine cheering was quite audible at that point, drunken exclamations of pleasure. All of us girls were on display, an untouchable fantasy that men could reenact in their minds. A private screening to be replayed later with a bottle of lube and a firm hand. We were merchandise, a product to be sold, instant gratification for all those with cash to burn. She would endure it for as long as it took because how could Sylar stand for other men coveting what was his?

"Next up gentlemen, the ever incomparable Clarissa!"

That was her cue. She peeked out and scanned the room. The house was packed tonight, but when was it not if she was performing? She brought her hands to her face, physically forcing her lips into a believable smile. Relax, deep breath, in and out, shoulders straight, chin up, smile still on. And then Claire took that step into the spotlight, a kind mercy to blind her from the animals below. She clutched her robe closer, massaging the fur lined collar and waited for the music to begin. Claire could barely hear her labored breath over the heavy bass, ten steps later she was at the edge of the cat walk. Flinging her robe open, she dropped it carelessly to the ground, it had outlived its purpose. The men were here to see everything, to covet and lust. It was a strange sort of power. She let the adrenaline take over, moving her body in all the ways she knew would get them hard. She allowed herself a quick scan of the faces below. There were a handful of attractive men to be found, in the sea of uptight, middle aged business men, and old drunk fools. The years passed, the world changed, but the people didn't. They all blurred together after the centuries. Claire allowed herself to fantasize about plucking one of the ripe youths from the front row, taking him back to her dressing room, and fucking them hard on top of her borrowed vanity table. Loneliness had allowed her this thought. She let the daydream play out in her mind, beginning to end, sparing no detail in between. She even gave the boy a promising smile. A crooked grin she learned from her favorite uncle so many years ago. His memory hazed and his features were beginning to fade. He was only a smile now, a crooked grin she wore in his honor.

She turned away from him. She would not be bringing him backstage with her. He was pretty, but he was not worthy. He was not Sylar. Fucking hell, he really knew how to ruin her eternity, even if he was aware of it or not.

The song was almost at a close, the crowd roared for an encore. Should she oblige them? Claire pondered this as the melody gradually began to fade. What the hell? She had nothing exciting planned for tonight.

The sight of a man…. Tall, dark, and handsome caught her eye from within the crowd. Dark brown eyes met green and as the music ended, with the faint sound of boos from her disappointing ending, Sylar's face was the last thing she saw before the curtain closed.

Claire stood there, completely frozen in shock. Sylar had showed. The bastard did care. A small smile appeared, instantly being replaced by a surprising jolt from her arm.

Max, her boss, stood in front of her looking pissed.

"What the hell was that?" He asked, voice menacing but low at the same time as he started to drag her backstage.

She jerked her arm from his grasp, stopping him. "I saw someone from my past."

"Who?"

"My boyfriend." She hadn't said those words in such a long time that it felt strange to say them now, to Max of all people.

"You have a boyfriend?" Shock and rage seeping in all at once.

"I think it's safe to say we're broken up now." Years of not seeing each other would do that, right?

"Bad breakup?"

Claire smirked, remembering the last time she saw him before shuddering. "You have no idea."

She quickly dismissed herself from Max's present. He may be her boss, but the guy really did give her the creeps and the wig on her head was starting to itch. Heading down the back hall to her dressing room, she was relieved to get the flimsy clothes off, the cheap makeup, and head home. She wouldn't be satisfying anyone tonight.

Claire sat down in front of her vanity, looking in the mirror. The girl staring back was exactly that… a girl. She would never age past seventeen. The dark short hair brought out the contrast of her eyes more, the sparkling show clothes making her older by a year, and…

"Dark hair never suited you."

She whirled, eyes wide to see Sylar standing in the doorway. He casually leaned back against the doorframe, eyes scanning her up and down before stopping at her face. The look on her face was one he wishes he could take a picture of and savor it.

"Quite the bad girl you've been." His voice sent shivers down her spine. "I think we need to have a talk."

Claire broke eye contact, fidgeting in her seat as the door slammed closed.


End file.
